So, at a level far below that of language, the feeling meaning of the story goes inside you, into a very deep, dreaming place. Into the place where your deepest feelings reside. And there it changes who you are, just as all good stories do. ~ Stephen Buhner, Plant Intelligence
In polite conversation, it’s just not done
to say, “She hated me,” and so I laugh,
as if the emotion has no substance.
Expecting some bland reply, if any —
ah, it’s an enigma
that you feel so blue.
Feel better now. Is it only
natural to sidestep these deep
openings? But you love me
and you ask me to embrace
my grief and pain and pure pissed-off
chagrin at her hostility.
You pull me out into the garden
redolent with peppermint and fresh-cut grass
gifts from the breeze
over the spring-fed pond.
The coolness heralding the turning
toward the fall,
when all things appear
to die after a blaze of vivid
protest or celebration.
Your hand in mine, my emotions
free to move as we pace
into the unknown places
this moment has revealed.